


Match Made in Hell

by LeanaM



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Sassy!Pansy Parkinson, Shop Assistant!Tom Riddle, Time Travel, Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2018-11-30 22:45:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11473221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeanaM/pseuds/LeanaM
Summary: Tom Riddle knew, somewhere deep inside, he'd met his match in this annoying woman. He was intrigued, though. And determined to win whatever game they were playing.





	1. At Borgin & Burke's

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JLPierre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JLPierre/gifts).



> In response to the Rare Pairs Roulette pairing in FB group Fairest of the Rare, which was Tom Riddle and Pansy Parkinson.
> 
> Gift for PierreJ92 because it was her birthday last weekend.

 

* * *

 

**Match Made in Hell**

* * *

 

Tom heard the tinkling of the bell above the shop door, carefully closed his book and placed it behind the counter before looking up. A cloaked, hooded figure stood in the dim light, slowly turning around as if taking in every detail. His face broke into his most charming smile and he straightened up a little more. “May I help you?”

Two elegant hands pushed down the hood and revealed a pale, pointed face with snub nose, dark eyes and bobbed, black hair. Cherry-red lips curved into a thin smile. Tom swallowed, slightly uncomfortable under the steady gaze that seemed to see right through him. She didn't respond. Tom squared his shoulders and doubled the charm, repeating his earlier question. “May I help you?”

The woman gave him one more piercing look, then waved a dismissive hand. “I’m just looking around for now, thank you.” She turned away and started examining a display of cursed jewelry.

Tom felt strangely irritated by her dismissal. He came around the counter and joined her at the display. “Are you looking for anything in particular? A birthday gift, perhaps?” He made an effort to look beguiling and interested, but the cool, assessing gaze that met his was clearly not fooled. The woman straightened up abruptly and walked over to the counter, where she stood tapping her foot impatiently until he came around and faced her again. This time, his smile was a little more strained. “How may I be...”

“I wish to sell some jewelry,” she cut in, placing a velvet purse on the counter and opening it with deft movements. “Make me an offer.” She rolled the contents out on the counter with a grand sweeping gesture, two diamond bracelets and a ruby necklace shining up at Tom in the dim light. He cast a _Lumos_ to examine them closer,blinking against the sudden radiance of the stones and reached out a hand to touch them.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” The woman’s voice cut through the silence.

Tom looked up, his eyebrows raised.

“How long have you been working here?”

The sneer in her voice irritated Tom, but he maintained his charming smile and tried to hide his annoyance. The amused glint in her dark eyes told him he hadn’t quite succeeded. “Five years,” he answered, retracting his hand and whisking out a pair of dragon hide gloves in one smooth move. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before, Miss. I’m sure I’d have remembered.” He flickered his eyelashes at her, but his attempt at ingratiating himself with her seemed to backfire. Women didn’t usually burst out laughing when he gave them that look.

“And you didn’t bother asking if these were cursed before trying to touch them? I’m surprised you still have all your limbs.”

Tom could feel his cheeks heat up. That had been a mistake. A stupid mistake. And, upon closer inspection, he could feel the faint, dark pulse of a curse surrounding one of the diamonds in each bracelet. Damn that woman. “Do you know which curse?” he asked.

“Don’t you?”

Tom ground his teeth. This woman was getting to him in the worst possible way. “If it’s no more than a simple Fidelity Curse I don’t see it adding much value,” he murmured in a disparaging tone.

She laughed again. That laugh was beginning to grate on his nerves.

“I can offer you 200 Galleons for the set.” He saw the flash of displeasure in her eyes and couldn’t help the smug little smile that crept onto his face. “Honesty, we have many such bracelets and they are not in high demand. The ruby necklace is a fine piece, but rubies are not particularly the gem of choice for our clientele.” He shrugged and put on a sympathetic face. “I’m sorry I cannot offer you more.” He gave her a once-over, intending to let the disdain sip through his gaze as his eyes flicked from her face over her clothes to her shoes and back up, but he couldn’t find any sign of the usual impoverished Pureblood pretending that everything was fine even though the vaults were running empty. No, her cloak was of the finest wool, a beautiful Midnight Black turning to Slytherin green depending on the light, a perfect teardrop diamond necklace around her neck, her dragon hide boots shone in the dim shop light and the lace cuffs that poked out from under her cloak were of the best quality, no mending in sight. This woman was not desperate to sell family jewels just to keep her style of living.

She had pursed her lips in a smirk that almost made her look attractive while she let him assess her, but she didn’t speak. She only cocked her head a little to the side, as if listening for something, and a moment later, Tom heard what she had noticed before him: the footsteps of Mr. Burke coming down the stairs. Her gaze fixed on the door behind him.

He bristled again. She was ignoring him, as if he was of no consequence. If he ever found out her name, she’d regret crossing paths with him…

Mr. Burke waddled into the shop, his beady eyes studying the customer and Tom’s tense shoulders. Before he could address either of them, however, the woman spoke again.

“I’m afraid I shall have to take my goods elsewhere. I will suffer insolence if i must but I will not be insulted by such an offer.” She moved to gather the jewelry into the velvet purse again, but Mr. Burke stayed her hand. “Tom, what did you offer the lady for these gems? I’m sure we can come to an understanding, Miss…” He let the words trail off, but she didn’t offer her name.

“Only 200 Galleons. It’s an insult, Mr. Burke. If this is the best you can offer…” She shook her head in dismay. “I honestly think your little assistant here has no clue what he is doing. And I will not do business with idiots.” She yanked her arm free and gathered the bracelets and necklace into the purse.

“5000 Galleons.”

Tom’s mouth dropped open in surprise at the offer his boss made. He hadn’t even looked closely at the jewels.

The woman sent him a triumphant smile, then turned to Mr. Burke. “Much better. How about 6500? You know you can easily get twice that for that set of bracelets, but I need to get them off my hands.”

Mr. Burke only hesitated for one brief moment. Then he nodded, sending Tom to the back with an impatient wave of his hand. “Go check out the stock, Tom, I’ll finish this transaction with the lady.”

 

* * *

 

Tom was fuming. Fuming! That bloody woman had ruined his entire day. She had destroyed his credibility with Burke, and she had gotten the better of him in every single part of their conversation. Maddening. Infuriating. He’d never forget that grating laugh. He’d find her and teach her the consequences of …

“You should learn to pay attention to details.”

He stiffened and turned, wand in hand, to face the figure in the shadows. He’d not seen her when he passed that spot, but he recognised that voice immediately. In two steps he stood in front of her, almost nose to nose, his wand pressing in her throat.

“What do you want? Haven’t you done enough?”

She laughed again. “Oh, my Lord,” she said, shaking her head, “How did you ever get those idiots to follow you the first time around? You’re so easy to rile up.”

Tom stepped back a little, lowering his wand to his side. His eyes narrowed as he studied her. She had called him Lord, but he wasn’t sure if she was using the Muggle expression or referring to his alter ego. But that was a name he only used with his closest friends, the name only a select few knew. She was not one of them. Unless someone had blabbed. He ground his teeth together.

Her hand reached out and cupped his jaw, her thumb stroking his cheekbones and then his lips. “I didn’t expect you to be so handsome,” she murmured. “You don’t look like old Snakeface at all. Let’s keep it this way, this time round, shall we?” Her mouth curved into a sinful smile. “Hmm, I can work with this.”

“What do you want?” he repeated, channeling his confusion into anger. His blue eyes flickered red for a moment.

She drew in a sharp breath. Then, without warning, she pressed her lips onto his, nibbling, tasting, a little tentative, but when he didn’t push her away, with more confidence. Her tongue slipped between his lips and sent sparks of fire through his body. He balled his hands into fists, unwilling to give in completely. But, oh sweet Salazar, when she bit his lip and sucked away the pain, he couldn’t help groaning.

She broke the kiss and smiled again. “I can definitely work with this.”

“I still don’t know what you want.”

The woman tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow and began to walk towards Diagon Alley. “My name is Pansy Parkinson. I was there when you lost your final battle, and life hasn’t been very kind to me since then. So I travelled back in time to find you before you started doing the idiotic things that led to your downfall.” She shot him a sideways glance. “I fear I’m a little too late, but I couldn’t very well go back much further. It wouldn’t be proper. Now we’re about the same age. Much better.”

Tom drew in a slow, deep breath. The woman’s answer didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense at all. How could she know? What did she know? He stopped just before they reached Diagon Alley and turned towards her. “I have no idea what you are trying to imply, but…”

She placed a finger on his lips, then stood on tiptoes to bring her mouth close to his ear. Her breath ghosted along his cheek, sending goosebumps down his neck.

“I’m here to help you conquer the world, my Lord. And, believe me,” she stepped back again with a mischievous grin, “You will need help.”  



	2. Tom's Room

 

* * *

 

“This is where you live?” Pansy looked around the room, her lip curling in distaste. It wasn’t much more than a room, a bed in one corner, a wash basin in the other and a desk in front of the grubby window. She could hardly believe the greatest wizard of the age was slumming it quite like this. “You want to build your empire from this sleazy bedsit?”

Tom’s lips twitched, whether in amusement or frustration was hard to tell. The woman exasperated him to no end, and yet… and yet he couldn’t bring himself to really get her to leave him alone. He’d tried to make her go away, feeble attempts at shrugging her off and making her uncomfortable that she’d laughed away, delighted at every next attempt she thwarted. He’d taken her home instead. That kiss hadn’t been too bad, after all. And he was intrigued. Curious about this woman from the future who had come back to find him before he started making stupid mistakes. He wondered what she knew. He wondered what change she would bring. He wondered what she saw in him.

He looked around his room, taking it in for the first time through the eyes of a visitor he’d want to impress. Not that he wanted to impress her. She didn’t need to be impressed. He saw the shabby furniture, the mould in the corners of the ceiling, the messy pile of papers on his desk, and wondered. He wondered why she was here, in his room, in his life.

She unclasped the cloak and let it glide off her shoulders, then held it out for him to take it. He almost did. _Almost_. Entranced by her creamy shoulders, the hint of cleavage, the gorgeous line of the black lace dress that clung to her curves and planes. She was perfection. Then he remembered who he was and where he was, and folded his arms with a smirk.

She turned her head to look at him, frowned, then shrugged and dropped the cloak into a heap on the floor.

“What happened?” he asked, unable to resist. He knew she’d understand his question without elaboration.

She looked around one last time, sniffed disdainfully and then sat down on the bed, smoothing her skirt with a slow, deliberate movement. “You tried to kill a baby.”

That was… unexpected. He had no compunction about killing women and children. He remembered Myrtle Warren and smirked. “Did I win?”

One eyebrow rose in such a perfect arch he would have needed a compass to draw it. “If you won, do you think I’d be here? Brightest wizard of his year, my fucking tits.”

Tom blinked at her coarse language. He wasn’t used to Pureblood women using such words. They tended to behave like delicate flowers, even though he knew they had backbones of steel.

“You tried to take over the world and you failed. You got a bunch of Pureblood and halfblood idiots to follow you in your endeavour, causing a war in our society that lasted the better part of thirty years. You were defeated but came back, for a short time, before you died. And yes, you did die. Your little Horcrux stunt didn’t work.”

Tom drew in a sharp breath. “I see.”

“But life wasn’t all that nice for those who had been associated with you after your final defeat. So I came back in time. I wanted to know who the idiot was that had led my family to ruin with his ridiculous plans.”

“Look, Miss Parkinson, I have no idea what you’re trying to imply, but I can tell you that my plans are anything but ridiculous.”

She laughed. “So what is it you want, really? Some silly idea that magic should only be granted to those of pure blood? Are you ignoring your own roots, Mr. Riddle?”

He drew himself up to his tallest height, towering over her and letting his magic roll off him in waves of anger. “I am Salazar Slytherin’s last heir.”

“Oh really?” She wasn’t intimidated at all, stared back at him unblinkingly, with a taunting smile on her lips. “And from which side was that again? Your father’s? Oh, no, he was a Muggle, wasn’t he? My bad.”

He was on her in a moment, his hands wrapping around her neck and squeezing, slowly. She fell backwards and he followed, unable to think clearly through the red haze of rage. And still she laughed. That damned, grating, stupid laugh. Then he felt himself being lifted up by a strong wind, until he was plastered against the ceiling of his room.

“Seriously, Tom, what’s the endgame? Pureblood supremacy? Power? Living forever? Because, let me tell you now, eternal life does not look good on you. You lose a nose - you look… you look like an actual snake and you kind of slither when you walk. I assure you, whatever you’re getting in terms of female attention now, it’s gonna be scarce in the future if you continue on this path.”

She was powerful. More powerful than her slight frame and innocent blue eyes would suggest. It took him all of three minutes to undo her spell without his wand. He drifted down slowly, until he caged her in on his mattress, his legs on either side of her hips, his feet pressing her knees down and his hands gripping her wrists in a painfully tight hold. She let go of her wand as soon as he shook the hand that held it, but he didn’t make the mistake of thinking she was powerless now. She only surrendered her wand because she thought she could match him without one. He grinned down at her. “I get enough attention from eligible witches hoping to catch the last descendant of Slytherin.” He leaned a little closer, his lips ghosting over her naked shoulders and neck. She closed her eyes and tilted her head, giving him easier access. He bit down, hard, expecting her to buck and scream, hoping for a flicker of fear, but instead she moaned and sighed, staring up at him with desire burning in her eyes.

“You really aren’t afraid of me.” It was more a statement than a question, and he cursed himself inwardly for letting the words slip past his lips, afraid he’d shown her too much.

She shrugged one of her deliciously elegant shoulders. “Whatever this turns out to be, it can’t be worse than what I left behind.”

And then he did see it, the glimmer of hurt, of tears unable to fall, in the fathomless depths of the ocean reflecting his face.

He loosened his grip a little, tossing her wand on his side table alongside his, then tracing a finger along her cheek, her neck, her chest, until he reached the lace of her dress. He saw goosebumps erupt all over her skin and was overcome by a sudden desire to kiss it all away. He refrained, however. She moved her hips until she was grinding against him, and his hardness made her smile in triumph.

“Don’t hold back,” she whispered, “I can take anything you throw my way.”

Tom had to close his eyes and take a deep breath to stop himself from taking her right there and then. He needed to know, first. “Was it that bad?”

She looked away from him, for the first time that evening. Her body was still underneath his, and for a moment he regretted not giving in.

“It was fine for everyone else. They all celebrated, they all rejoiced, they built a new world with new laws and new expectations for the future.”

“But not you.”

She shook her head. “I was ostracised for something I did when I was a scared little girl. They forgave everyone else, but they never forgave me.”

Tom saw a single tear well up from her closed eyelids and bent down to kiss it away. He loved the taste of tears almost as much as he liked the sight of blood.

“So you came to find me?” His voice was careful, soft, enticing. He thought he’d found her weakness and was planning to exploit it.

She turned back to face him, her eyes alight with hatred and almost as red as his own when he was angry. “Yes. I didn’t want that life. So I came here, to change the outcome.”

“You don’t know what will happen if you mess with time. It’s a dangerous game you play. Maybe all your friends will end up dead, or tortured to insanity, now that you’re changing the course of history.”

She glared at him. “What do I care about anyone else? They can all go hang.”

“Your appearance in this timeline may disrupt my plans. Maybe I’ll be defeated sooner, rather than not at all.”

Pansy shrugged, her mouth turning into a wry smile. “Maybe. The future is not set in stone. But even if we burn, Tom Riddle, we won’t go down without tearing the world to pieces.”

Tom chuckled and began to kiss her chest along the edge of her dress. “I think we’ll get along just fine, Pansy Parkinson,” he muttered between kisses. “Just fine, indeed.”


	3. Interruptions

The hearth burst to life in green flames and a voice rang around the room. “My Lord, are you there?”

Tom groaned quietly into Pansy’s shoulder, and he could feel her silent chuckles shudder through her body. “Bad timing, Abraxas.” He bit into Pansy’s collarbone once more, giving in to some primal urge to mark her as his, then pushed away from her, buttoning up his shirt - how had that vixen managed to open that without his knowledge? - and turning towards the small hearth next to the bed. He knelt down and sat on his heels. “What do you want?”

Abraxas Malfoy knew better than to ask questions, even though Tom could see the curiosity in his eyes. “I didn’t realise you had company tonight. I wanted to talk to you about this weekend’s meeting, but it can wait.”

Tom wrinkled his nose, trying to get rid of the smell of Pansy Parkinson that hung about him. “You interrupted me now, you may as well continue.”

“But your company…”

“I said you may continue, Abraxas. Are you questioning my judgement?” Tom let his eyes flash red, and was satisfied to see Abraxas flinch.

“As you wish, my Lord. I found a different spell we can use for the marking. One that combines the Protean Charm with the blood magic we already discussed. It would make it possible for you to call anyone bearing the mark from wherever you are.”

Tom tilted his head to the side. He ignored the sniggering sounds that came from the bed. “Interesting concept, Abraxas. Can we test it before Sunday, you think?”

Abraxas’ face disappeared for a moment from the fire, as if he tried to listen to what someone behind him was saying. Clearly it was Celeste who had created this new spell, not Abraxas. Just like him, to ride along on other people’s coattails. “It won’t have the same power as when we perform the ritual at the full of the moon, but we can certainly try.”

“Tomorrow evening then?”

“Yes, of course, we--”

Abraxas stopped mid-sentence when a lacy black gown hit Tom full on the head. Tom turned an angry glare towards the bed but quite forgot what he was going to say when he saw the naked woman sitting on the edge of his bed, a cigarette dangling from her fingers as if she didn’t care the ashes might set the whole place on fire.

“Don’t dawdle, Tom, we were in the middle of something.” She took a long drag from her cigarette, then blew out the smoke slowly towards the ceiling, her whole body stretched out from her pale, perfect neck, marred by love bites, to the tips of her toes. Her free hand trailed along her hip and then to the apex of her thighs. “It’s very rude to keep a girl waiting, you know. She might take it upon herself to finish the job.”

Tom was vaguely aware of a tinkling laugh coming from the other side of the fireplace, having completely forgotten Abraxas’ head was still in his fire. He swallowed painfully, his mouth as dry as desert sand. His tongue traced his lips without moistening them. He took a deep breath, his right hand balled into such a tight fist his nails dug crescents into the skin of his palm. He turned back to Abraxas. “Tomorrow. Good evening.”

He was about to close the connection when Celeste Malfoy’s head replaced that of Abraxas. “Bring the lady, Tom. Dinner will be at eight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Then, sticking her head a bit further out of the fire, she turned towards the bed. “I hope you know your protection spells, dear.” Then she was gone and the fire died down.

Tom threw a wordless locking spell at it. He rubbed his hands over his eyes in an attempt to regain control. That bloody witch. How dare she interrupt him? How dare she throw her dress at him?

He didn’t hear her move, but somehow he knew she was standing before him in all her naked glory before he dropped his hands from his face. He let his eyes travel slowly, excruciatingly slowly, up her legs, past the dark curls hiding her core, along her navel and over her breasts before finally meeting her eyes. He was angry, yes, but also painfully hard. This woman had made a fool of him twice now. She was infuriating. Intoxicating.

He rose slowly, ignoring her outstretched hand, and slipped the cigarette from her fingers. At least he would always be taller. He took a deep drag and blew the smoke right in her face. She didn’t even blink.

“You’ll have to do better than that if you want to intimidate me, Tom Riddle.”

It wasn’t a challenge, precisely, but it was easy to interpret it as one. He tossed the cigarette in the hearth without checking if it landed there safely and caged her in against the mantlepiece. “Do you really think it is wise, considering what you know of me, to test me like this?”

Her laugh was not entirely unexpected but it still grated on his nerves. He wondered if he could ever get used to that kind of laugh.

“You were defeated by a child. A toddler, Tom Riddle. I’m not afraid of you.” She met his gaze, chin lifted, blue eyes blazing with defiance. He took a step closer until he could feel her nipples grazing against his chest.

“Perhaps you should be, Pansy Parkinson.”

One arm circled around his neck while the other started playing with the buttons of his shirt - again. She kissed his jaw. “I know who you are.” She kissed the spot right under his ear. “I know all your strengths.” She bumped her nose against his, their lips not quite brushing together. “I know you’re powerful.” She bit his chin softly. “I know you will achieve great things with your wand.” She trailed kisses down the column of his neck and it made every thought in his mind disappear. Her hips thrust forward a little, causing some slight friction with his reawakened erection and he let out an unwilling sigh. “But I also know your weakness.” He still wasn’t sure how she’d opened his shirt this time, but her nails were scraping his skin, leaving angry red traces in their wake, and he shuddered at the combination of pleasure and pain. “I know enough about you to bring you down with one--” her hand slipped down to his trousers, “single--” her fingers closed around him, tight, confident, and he forgot how to breathe, “move.” She bit down on his nipple while swiping the head of his cock with her thumb and it was all he could do to stop the orgasm that threatened to crash through him.

Anger, lust and impatience swirled around in his blood and he let out a roar of frustration. He grabbed her legs and hoisted her up, unwilling to wait until they were more comfortably situated, and she obliged him, locking her ankles behind his back and seeking purchase on the mantelpiece while he lined himself up.

She was fucking tight. Not a virgin, he was sure, but fucking tight nonetheless. It was the last conscious thought before something feral took over and all logic fled from his brain. She was fire in his arms, moving with him, clenching around him, and the noises that fell from her lips were so obscene he’d have been able to come from those alone. But he restrained himself, once again, unwilling to give in too soon, unwilling to let her win. He held her up against the mantelpiece with one hand, the other trailing over her body, her breasts, her nipples, then down between her thighs where he found that little nub of nerves that had helped him give so many witches pleasure. He circled it slowly, taking a nipple into his mouth and replicating the movement with his tongue. Her muscles began to tremble around her and he knew she was close. He’d been close since she stood before him, but he wouldn’t break first. He bit down on her nipple while his thumb moved quicker and she screamed out her pleasure as her orgasm ripped through her. The nails that raked his back, breaking his skin and leaving blood trickling down his spine were what sent him over the edge, and they collapsed in front of the fire, spent and satisfied.

She knew a wandless and silent cleaning spell, of course she did. Witches in the future were clearly a lot more forward than the witches nowadays.

“So do you have anything else to wear for that dinner party tomorrow?” he asked, breaking the silence in the room.

“Why?” Her voice was lazy, almost as if she was falling asleep right where she lay.

“You heard Celeste Malfoy’s invitation, surely?” She hummed in agreement. “You can hardly go to Malfoy Manor with a semen-stained black dress, Miss Parkinson. It is just not done. You would insult the lady of the house.” For himself, he was glad that dress was stained now, and he knew she wouldn’t find it easy to clean it up. Lace, he remembered from laundry duty in his orphanage years, was a pain to wash.

She grinned at him. “I’ll get something new tomorrow.” She then pushed herself up from the floor and sauntered to the bed, where she snuggled under the duvet, completely unconcerned with her own nakedness. “And I’ll get us a new flat, as well. This is really no place for the future Minister for Magic to start his career.”

Tom sat up so quickly his head swam with dizziness. “I’m not becoming Minister for Magic, I’m--”

Pansy yawned loudly, then said, casually, “Power or eternal life, Tom. You can’t have both. But I can guarantee you one. Your pick. Now sush. I want to sleep.”

To his utter amazement, a few moments later she was sleeping in his bed.

Of course she snored.


	4. Meet the Malfoys

* * *

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

She was gone by the time he woke up the next morning, and if it wasn’t for the stained black dress lying in the middle of his floor and the cigarette stubs in an ashtray on his desk, he’d have sworn he’d dreamt the whole thing. Even her scent in his sheets didn’t quite convince him he had really taken a strange woman to his rooms.

She’d left a note for him, using his own quill and paper.

 

_I’ll be back around noon. Pack your bags, love, you’re moving out. I already settled your rent with the landlady._

_P_

  

He crumpled up the parchment and snarled as he threw it in the grate of the fireplace, setting the entire thing on fire with a flick of his wrist.

He froze. Noon? What time was it? He dug for a watch in his robe pockets and, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, realised he was late for work. _Godric be damned._ Would that woman ever stop wreaking havoc with his life? Had she really only been there for less than a day?

An owl scratched at his window while he was frantically pulling on fresh clothes and throwing some water in his face by way of a morning wash. He hated walking around less than perfectly put together, but if he didn’t want to lose his job, he’d have to hurry.

He pointed his wand at the window to open it, but in his irritation, his push of magic was too strong and the window disintegrated. The result was the same, however. The owl landed on his desk, his head turning around with as haughty an expression as he’d ever seen on any animal. His yellow-amber eyes focused on Tom and seemed to study him intently, before he finally decided to hold out his leg imperiously. He managed to get the scroll without being scratched, though that was more due to his own quick reflexes than the owl’s good behaviour.

_I let Borgin know you were ill this morning so he’s not expecting you. I found us an excellent little flat, you’ll love it. Prime wizarding real estate. The family that owned it had to be persuaded to give it up, but they are currently on their way to Australia with no intention of returning. The sun will do them good._

_How do you like Mercurius? I bought him first thing this morning. Well, after getting a new wardrobe organised. One can’t, as I found out, walk Diagon Alley dressed in just a cloak. We’ll have to work on that, darling, when we are in charge. People shouldn’t be so prudish._

_Be ready by one._

Tom crumpled up the parchment and threw it in the still roaring fire, much to the fury of the intolerable owl, who now began to snap at him.

“No message,” he snapped back. The owl finally left in a huff.

Tom sat down on his chair, his arms folded, his eyes trained on the fire. She was infuriating. She needed to be taught her place. Lord Voldemort would never be subjugated by a mere woman. The Heir of Slytherin demanded respect, and he would _make_ her respect him, Founders be damned.

 

* * *

 

Tom knew he was sulking. He sat in one of the many sitting rooms of Malfoy Manor, his eyes purposefully avoiding the two women sitting on the sofa across from him. Abraxas was jabbering on about some business deal or other he was trying to make with the Ministry, scamming them out of more Galleons than his overrated cauldrons were worth, but he didn’t listen. He just sat there, glowering at his firewhisky, trying to ignore her.

Of course she’d found them a flat. A glorious flat, too. He was sure it had once belonged to some secondary branch of the Black family. Their photos still hung about the rooms, empty frames where once people’s smiles had been captured on film. Eerie. He liked it. It was light and spacious, with three bedrooms and three bathrooms, all the most modern Muggle comforts enhanced by magic and views across the Thames.

Of course he hadn’t been able to get rid of her. She’d followed him to Malfoy Manor and now she and Celeste were talking as if they had been friends forever.

Dinner was a pain. Not because the food was bad or the company boring, quite the contrary. It was a pain because Pansy Parks, as she had called herself, was a perfect guest. She conversed easily on several topics, included even Abraxas in some discussion or other, and all the while her mocking blue eyes slid over him with the promise of retribution if he misbehaved. As if it weren’t _his_ friends she was having dinner with. As if _he_ was a child that needed chiding. The scratches on his back itched something fierce, even against the silk shirt he wore under these ridiculously elaborate formal robes. Because of course she’d provided him with new clothes as well.

So he sat through dinner, growing steadily more and more annoyed, until dessert was cleared away and Abraxas brought out the notes he’d made for the marking spell they wanted to try. They joined the women in the sitting room, much to Tom’s annoyance, but he could barely object to the suggestion when he knew they would likely need Celeste’s explanations if something didn’t quite make sense. If only _that woman_ wasn’t there, in her sleek, blood red dress that clung in all the right places and proudly displayed the one bite that had broken through her skin. He hadn’t even noticed at first, because the white ermine stole she had draped across her shoulders had hidden the mark. He’d hated that peculiar glint in Celeste Malfoy’s eyes. She’d been trying to set him up for way too many years now.

Tom slowly pulled his mind back to what Abraxas Malfoy was saying to him. “I think this should work quite well, Tom, the Protean Charm won’t interfere with the blood ritual, so we don’t even need to change anything there, just incorporate it at the right time. Now, I’ve looked at your designs, and I think--”

“A snake coming out of a skull? You actually designed this?”

Tom’s shoulders tensed at the sound of _that_ voice. He turned around to face Pansy, his nostrils flaring with fury, unable to completely suppress it. “I did.”

She settled down next to him, leaning on his shoulder in what he supposed to be an affectionate way. And she laughed. That awful, grating laugh. “Celeste, have you seen this?” She waved at the images, several attempts at drawing a skull and snake in different compositions, then turned her attention to Tom. “I honestly thought the spell just created it that way. I’d never have dreamed you actually spent time _designing_ it. A little emo, don’t you think? So last decade, darling.”

“You know, Pansy, I did tell him that, but he wouldn’t listen to me.” Celeste placed a hand on his other shoulder, as if she knew how angry he was and wanted to help him calm down. She was the only one of his friends’ - followers’ - wives who could get away with such familiarity, and only in private.

“You do realise,” Pansy said, her damned blue eyes still riveted on him, “that anyone could then recognise your little band of misfits with such an obvious mark?”

Tom replied, in as cool a voice as he could muster, “That, _my dear_ , is exactly the point.”

Pansy smiled, the kind of smile one gives a child or ignorant fool. “But, forgive me, I may be wrong, aren’t the things your little… group… wants to do, technically, considered illegal?”

Tom’s lips twitched. Abraxas had risen from his seat, his wand half-drawn, as if debating whether to ignore his wife’s angry hiss of “Sit down,” or obey.

“Technically, perhaps. It depends on the laws.” Tom wasn’t too squeamish to admit that. Ever since the Grindelwald debacle, any attempt to celebrate wizarding heritage was seen as bigotry and hate against Muggles and Muggleborns.

“You’d be in a better place to change those if you became the new Minister for Magic, you know.”

Celeste Malfoy, who had been following their exchange with bated breath, tightened her hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear, “That’s what I’ve been telling you. Stop this little guerilla war you’re planning before it gets out of hand. If you want to rule, do it legally.”

Tom rose from his chair, out of reach of the two women. He turned on them, his hands balled into fists and his face flushed with irritation. “I am not running for Minister.”

To his annoyance, Pansy and Celeste merely exchanged glances and shrugged.

It was Pansy who spoke their thoughts out loud. “Not _yet._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The aesthetic for this chapter was made by the wonderful Kaarina_Riddle and I am absolutely thrilled and amazed that she wanted to make this for me. Thanks so much my darling! This chapter is for you._


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